Pizzicato
by pedal
Summary: Shinichi may or may not be visiting Ran at school. Subtle, bizarre, and short. RanShinichi


Pizzicato

Written: January 2005

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't have money, so don't sue.

Author's note: A little abstract, very subtle. I like this.

Dedication: To boredom. When I couldn't get other things on my laptop to work, I succeeded in blowing my time by throwing a blank Word document in front of myself and typing whatever I thought of. Woot.

Pizzicato

By Pedal

You weren't like this before. Ever before. I turned my head to the window and then looked back at you, just to see if I wasn't really looking at you. When I turned back, I picked up my bow. My foot kicked the heel of my chair along the way, absently. You were still there, but you were like porcelain. No, you were sweating. You looked like glass. It was because you were there for only me to see, and yet you were going to break, staying smooth, tainted through it all.

The long, thin bow I had slid easily off the stand in front of me, barely ruffling the pages on it. The wind outside was even too mild to touch the pages. A wisp of my hair would go astray every so often, but that's all the wind could do. Your hair was too dark and shining. It was too wet to be lifted by such a light, cool breeze. It was warm outside, and I realized even though there was barely any winter in Tokyo, it seemed like winter far more often than summer. That was only because of your absence, though. I felt like Demeter because of you.

Your hair shook when you moved your head back and forth to answer the expression with which I told you, "You're not here." Otherwise, it was covered in the uniform sheen that the rest of your skin shared. Your blue eyes looked navy, and I wanted to see them more clearly. The smile that you had when you shook your head wasn't there either, just like you.

My fingers wrapped around my bow loosely and I laid the hairs silently down on the viola that I had had tucked under my chin the whole time. Long and sweet noises came, a melody that, like few melodies, oddly suited my instrument. You closed your eyes for a long and sweet moment, struggling with a hundred different things. Suddenly it was one thing, and your ears weren't red anymore.

The song picked itself up and saw your eyes open again, and the workings in your mind when you realized what song it was. It was one of our oldest favorites that neither of us had played but never really forgot how. It was the first time I had heard it in so long that my skin prickled up my back and my heart ached warmly and pleasantly.

Your hands found my shoulders from behind, and the same prickled feeling washed over me, not having allowed the last to subside. I faltered and lowered my viola and bow because of it. Your dry hands slid down my bare arms and lifted them back to play. When I saw the two drops of water on the matte surface of the chinrest, I fluttered my eyes quickly to rid myself of the tears that may or may not have come from me. I couldn't even tell if my eyes had been watering, but now I couldn't be sure. I pressed the viola to me, pressing one of your hands to my side with my upper arm.

I kept playing, and you stayed unmoving until all of our favorite parts had passed. When you did move, it wasn't your hand, but your face that nuzzled into my neck just before you slid and dropped to your knees behind me. Your hands moved then, guiding your arms around my body. One circled my middle and the other my shoulders. My viola slipped from my lap and fell to the floor with a soft, harmless clunk and twang. The bow bounced, following suit. The noise made you smile into my neck. I could feel it. Knowing you had a smile in you still was like hearing that song after years and years.

"I like that," you said, asking why I didn't play without the bow.

"It's too abrupt. You can't savor anything when the sounds come and leave so quickly."

You gasped slightly, pulling your face from me. I had meant to say that the sounds come and go, but I had said leave. My eyes closed, and I still felt that you weren't really there. You had to leave soon, just like I had said, and you were going to. Your arms pulled away from me too, letting the air cool me from yours and spring's heat.

The one door in the music room that led to the schoolyard outside had a chair propping it open. When I opened my eyes, the chair was pushed to the side of the door and it was closed. I heard a worried parting shout, probably yours, I guessed, from outside, before rising to prop the door open again. You were gone. Briefly, my head whirled from the blood loss of standing.

You weren't like this before. Before you left so long ago. You were like glass now, more fragile because you became hollow. Now I was your matching porcelain. I looked over the warmth outside, knowing being wrapped within it would never fill me with the life that you took away. Only your arms could do that, only if they weren't there for such a short time.

My forehead rested on the cool metal doorframe just inside the room, and the song still played in my mind, not leaving me alone since it had been missing me. Its long and sweet notes were what I wanted you to be. But you couldn't, and I hated that. I told you, quietly, to be Arco.


End file.
